Turbulence
by Kaitlinbell
Summary: Everything comes crashing down with the simplest of decisions. When we think we're doing ourselves a favor we often times find we were wrong all along. Since when do people know what's good for them anyway? Moonlight Desires follow up. LTLWI follow up.


okay first off

**!ATTENTION- This fic takes place directly after the episode "Moonlight Desires." If you haven't seen this/ wish to not spoil it/ have no idea what happened in that particular episode, PLEASE do not read this. The spoilers will kill you! **

**ALSO- take note, that this is also a portion of LTLWI. This chapter long one shot will be the filling inbetween LTLWI after where it left off, and the sequel will begin a bit after this one.**

**_Most Importantly- the plot, scenes, feelings, everything in general is all property of Howdyrockerbaby. She kindly gave me her plotline for me to write._**

**Turbulence**

_In my head there's only you now  
This world falls on me  
In this world there's real and make believe  
And this seems real to me  
And you love me but you don't know who I am  
I'm torn between this life I lead and where I stand  
Let Me Go by Three Doors Down_

_

* * *

_

Dylan slammed the car door shut and leaned against it, bringing his hands up and burying his face in the dark calm there. Count to ten, he told himself. Breathe in. Breathe out. Marco would still be there. It was better to do this with more than half a mind. It deserved everything he had.

The wind picked up as he stood there, feeling like it was coming from all directions. It ripped through the barren trees that lined the street and tore at his clothing, whipping his hair into his eyes and reaching cold fingers beneath his shirt.

It had been blowing like this since midnight Dylan knew. He had been awake at the time, far away from the party, and, especially, far far from Eric or any of the other guys he had had passing infatuations with. After Marco had delivered the ultimatum he had shrugged it off, cast it aside.

When had he become so sure of himself, he wondered. When had he honestly started to believe that Marco had no backbone, that he would just live with something like that? When did Marco suddenly become something so easy to brush aside? Had he really forgotten how much fire the other boy had hidden?

Dylan pushed himself off the car and absent-mindedly popped his knuckles as he stared at the house.

Perhaps he had.

He supposed it made sense. He'd gone away for awhile, got a taste of this so called "freedom". He'd forgotten what Degrassi had been like. He'd forgotten about beach trips, and zombie movies, and fleeting kisses in alleyways. All that had started to matter to him was to be one with the guys. His thirst for approval had won over everything else he had held dear. Suddenly dates with Marco were being replaced by clubbing with Eric, and family visits were taken over by "studying" with Paul or extra hockey practices. Eventually even school was taking a backsteat.

God, how he'd messed up.

A howling danced down his spine from the wind in the trees and Dylan finally felt himself animate, bones and joints sliding into a familiar stride as he moved forward, intent on a bended knee apology that he knew was sorely deserved. Distantly, he realized it was his "old" walk, the one he'd had last year. This comforted him to some degree.

There was a momentary stall in the wind's shrieking and in the lull a soft click caused Dylan to stop. Turning around he noticed a loose ball of heavy paper beside Marco's trashcan. It looked abnormally small and forlorn. The wind would blast every so often and Dylan watched curiously as the little ball would lift itself off the ground the tiniest bit before its weight caused it to sink and flutter back down to the cold ground.

Without even thinking Dylan stepped forward and picked it up, feeling finger worn edges against his skin. Cocking his head to the side he pulled and flattened and smoothed until the image on the interior was visible.

The photograph was an older one, worn down to a fond feather-softness at the corners. The colors were bleached out the smallest bit, the vibrancy washed away. Two boys sat on a beach, shoulder to sun darkened shoulder with only their backs to face the camera. Linked hands lay on the sand in a careful embrace. A pair of faces turned to one another with the beginnings of a soft smile curling at their lips and seemingly miles away from the rest of the world.

Oh God. Dylan felt his breath turn ragged as he traced the darker head of hair with a shaking finger. He remembered the first time he had found this picture, propped up next to Marco's computer screen with the air of something irreplaceable and right. A photograph that belonged there in that boy's room just as much as he himself had.

He remembered somedays it would move around, appearing in a book or tucked in a corner of his mirror. After an argument he'd always find it upside down, but never out of sight. Some days he'd even find it on the boy's nightstand looking more fingered and used than it had the day before.

But the fact was that for a year and a half that photograph never left that bedroom or its owner's hands. It never got lost, it never ran away, even during the worst of fights. And it never, most definitely never, was put in the trash.

But there it was.

There it was looking like a torn and dirtied banner of surrender out in the icy wind, lifting but never flying as if it _needed_ to make sure Dylan saw it. As if it needed that closure.

Trying his hardest not to notice the scalding warmth burning down his face Dylan stumbled forward, cramming the crumpled photgraph in his jacket pocket without a thought. Led by a feeling of intense foreboding he tore the lid of the trashcan off, covering his mouth to muffle his sob at what he saw.

Lying together like a jumble of flyaway thoughts items he had seen a million times over stared up at him. A leather jacket entirely too large to fit the other boy lay folded up and dirty. The crazy googly eyes of a stuffed bumble bee glared at him with reproach, it's shiny cloth wings rising in the wind. A jersey with an achingly familiar number lay on top of what looked like a folded up hammock, pushed almost to the bottom of the can. Notes with phrases like "parking lot. 2." and "what are you doing Saturday?" were flung about beside silly valentine cards.

There were also pictures. Hundreds of them. A familiar head of curly hair shining out from every single one. A group picture from the dance, himself in full hockey gear. Him sleeping, him cooking, playing video games, volleyball...the two of them kissing. They were kissing _everywhere._ Three for every other photo. The alleyway, on a couch, in a pile of leaves, in the snow. Every single one with a look of complete concentration and a terrifying depth of emotion that for some reason he had never paid attention to until this exact moment.

Suddenly all of the lack luster and sloppy liplocks with his college friends flashed through his head. Eric who pressed forward too hard and was always too demanding. Paul's who were just wet and disgusting. Then there was Chris and Dominic and Charlie, all of them...none of them had caught his breath or made his heart beat faster or made his hands shake or made him wish he could just die from the sheer agonizing beauty of it all.

Marco...none of them compared to Marco.

Hours bled into hours and Dylan was never sure if he left the spot where he stood and gazed into the trashcan that held the ruins of a wrecked relationship. When blue eyes finally glanced up night had fallen and the world was swept into the underwater world of evening where blue adn grey rule and streetlampts shed light on lost travelers. Warm light poured out from the Del Rossi house, curtains muting the glare and causing shadows to appear like a small theatre for the outside world.

As if to emphasize the hurt Dylan felt a familiar figure's shadow appeared in the curtains and he felt his heart constrict painfully at the sight. Marco hated him, that much was apparent even if he hadn't seen him for a full 24 hours now. The absense of calls, the absense of Marco period. It was obvious they were far from a reconciliation and that Marco was officially gone from his life, and no amount of kicking and screaming would bring him back.

The sound of shattering glass peirced the night air and Dylan felt himself flinch terribly as yet more tears fell. He realized they hadn't stopped, and were getting worse. A scream reached his ears and he knew he had to leave. Had to leave at that exact second before he raced towards that house. Dylan tried to mask a barked sob behind his hand and stumbled to his car as he tried with everything he had to stay on his feet and not fall to his knees.

Marco...none of them compared to Marco.

Unfortunately...everyone compared to him.

* * *

Marco slammed the door shut and turned, punching it with all the strength he had. Once, twice, three times. By the time he got done, very small specs of black were visible on the wood. The clock on the mantle chimed two a.m. and Marco knew he wouldn't be sleeping anytime soon. 

He hadn't cried again.

He'd driven home on a dangerous auto-pilot, narrowly missing cars and speeding through red lights without so much as a passing thought. The morning he had walked in on Dylan and the other boy kept flashing before his eyes, allowing no room for his own safety. "Freedom," Marco spat, as he stalked to his room. What in the hell would come of Dylan's freedom? Every single one of those bastards would rip his heart out for a quick grope in his dorm room.

Marco sped through his house, grateful his parents were gone for the weekend, and ransacked every room. In his room he tore pictures off of the walls and shredded them with his fractured and bloodied hands. The hockey pennant above his bed was ripped down. His drawers were emptied in a whirlwind of screams and flying fabric.

He had stopped at the picture, staring at it and all but feeling his eyes soften. What had he done to deserve this? Why did Dylan think he needed more? Was he really so worthless in his eyes? Had he always been?

The anger took over again a few minutes later and the ungaurded moment of loneliness and insecurity was forgotten in the torrent of anger from earlier. In a mad frenzied dash Marco ran from room to room, prying even the most inconspicuous of items off of the furniture and the walls. Anything that could ever remind him of Dylan, anything that might make the pain come back, that horrible betrayal that had taken his mind and heart hostage earlier at the party.

Eventually he made it to the kitchen and at some point Marco's mind realized a glass had slipped from his dead fingers and shattered over the floor. Tiny, winking shards shined up from the tile floor, a blanket of beautiful glass that would cut any unsuspecting foot. So very beautiful and deadly. Before he could even breathe his feet were slipping on the pieces and his back was being pricked by a thousand tiny sharp edges and poisoned barbs, his head slamming painfully on the shard ridden floor.

That was when the tears started. Suddenly with glass in the back of his arms and legs and back, and even smaller more agonizing shards digging into his emotions, Marco felt every single hurt from the party, every dashed hope and dream, every freely given and regretted kiss catch up with his mind. A literal deluge of heartbreak erupted from his chest and the floods started. Loud, throat scraping sobs tore out of him and shook the walls as he screamed to the one person who couldn't hear him. On and on the cries went until he finally was too hoarse to yell any longer.

As the light outside the window turned pink Marco finally gave into an exhausted, broken sleep. The floor was stained red in a small area from what little blood he had lost from the cuts and there he slept, in the bed of glass that he himself had created and the blanket of grief that couldn't seem to change to the anger that he knew he should feel.

* * *

It was noon before Marco stirred and realized he was still on the kitchen floor and bleeding. The fact didn't surprise him. With a hollow feeling throughout his entire body Marco heaved himself off the ground and swept and scrubbed the floor. When he was done he took a shower to wash off the blood...to wash away the tear tracks that he knew were there. Afterwards he calmly finished taking down everything in his house that had to be taken out. One armload at a time he carried out every last trace of Dylan from his life until it was gone entirely. 

By three o'clock Marco laid down on the couch and stared at the ceiling, sleep claiming him from time to time for only minutes before hurling him back to reality. Slow and resigned tears still leaked out for the hours to come and he never once wiped them away. He just really didn't care anymore.

And even though he knew everything was outside at the curbside, Marco still saw things. Dylan sat there on the coffee table, smiling and drinking with Eric. Sometime Dylan would kiss his neck like he used to. He'd gotten used to it...seeing this ghost. He figured it would be around for awhile...it didn't matter

Nothing really did after all.

* * *

"Yo, Dyl! We're heading down to the commons. You coming?" 

Dylan groaned and buried his head deeper into his soaked pillow, turning away from the voice as best he could. He really didn't want to talk to Eric, the person who had planted the life screwing idea of "freedom" into his head. He didn't want to talk to the guy he had been caught kissing.

He didn't want to talk to someone he didn't love.

The bed dipped to the side and Dylan turned onto his side so his back was facing the other boy. "Come on Dylan. Is all of this because of that vertically challenged idiot at the party? You did tell him about how you wanted to expand your options right?"

A growl bubbled up from low in his throat and Dylan flipped over fiercely to glare at Eric who sat as cool and unruffled as always at his side. "What in the _hell_ do you know?"

The darker boy smiled smuggly and moved to situate himself more comfortably at the end of his bed. "Oh testy. But really, Dyl, he's cute, but I don't see why you've stuck with him for so long. How long did it take the little midget to put out huh?"

Dylan saw red. "Shut the fuck up Eric! It's your goddamn fault I lost him!"

"I didn't ask you to cheat on him," Eric pointed out, pursing his lips. God, Dylan thought, he's so unattractive. Why did I ever choose him over Marco? "Besides, you love him. The question is why are you here and not with him?"

There was the question. Dylan felt himself deflate and sunk to the bed bonelessly. "Because I've ruined everything."

Eric snorted and stood back up, smoothing out any wrinkles in his designer clothes with finely boned hands. "If you ask me he's not worth the trouble. If you ever come to your senses you know my dorm's across the hall. Hell, maybe you can talk him into joining some time."

Dylan stared at the door as it closed, disgusted, before it opened back up again, Eric's dark face reappearing with a somber expression. "In all honesty here, Dyl, go get him back. We all realized you had something worthwhile...I guess we all just wanted a piece of it too. Go to him." And with that he was gone, leaving Dylan to sink back down on the bed with a fresh batch of tears pressing at the back of his eyes.

Ten minutes later Dylan was dressed and walking out the door.

* * *

Marco squeezed his eyes shut tighter as he heard a car door slam outside for the fifth time that day. The day was hot, suffocating rays of sunshine pouring in through the yellow curtains into the living room and onto his fevered face. Every sound he'd heard today was Dylan. Every car door was Dylan's. Every laugh from the children next door was Dylan chuckling at something. Every sound of the house settling was somehow Dylan too. All while the phantom Eric and Dylan made out on his coffee table. 

He was so tired. So tired of hearing hope in every little sound. So tired of waiting for someone that didn't love him. So tired of loving the very person who was least deserving.

He heard his door open and sighed, shuffling farther into the couch's cushions to ignore his runaway thoughts. Soft footsteps and jingling keys floated from the silence and Marco felt his tears become harder, pressing his hot face into the back of the sofa, whispering "Please stop," to the ghosts that haunted him.

A hand, shaky and unsteady, slipped through his hair and it took everything he had not to scream. A leg wrapped around his own, a warm chest pressed against his back and a strong arm wrapped around his waist.

Marco wanted to die. He wanted to rip out his own mind before it drove him to insanity with all these little memories and wishes and hopes and denied needs.

The body never left, never moved and eventually Marco decided the only way to escape would be to sleep.

"God, Dylan," he whispered, half awake and sobbing. "Why did this happen?"

"I'm so sorry," a voice answered back, the imagined arms tightening. "I'm so SO sorry," it weeped. "I'm never leaving again."

Marco nodded, coughing and spluttering at the scratchiness in his throat from the tears and trying to hold them back. "But...but you'll be gone by the time I wake up. you always are. You'll be kissing Eric again."

"No...no never. I'm here. I've got you. Forever."

"Forever?"

"Yes, so I can apologize everyday for the rest of my life, just so I can hold you one last time. I swear to God this will be just a nightmare in the end. If...if you'll have me."

Marco knew, whether imagined or not, that he should have answered. But in the end, he supposed, it was rather not needed, because he knew there would be no other way to go about it, so he simply closed his eyes.

Marco fell asleep smiling.

* * *

Review...even though I've been a horrible person and haven't updated in forever. :( I'm working on it. Promise. 


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